


Agape

by cabbagespoon



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alcohol, Anxiety, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Exhaustion, Fever, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, NSFW, Nsfw victuuri, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Vomiting, Whump, emeto, stomach flu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-09-14 03:38:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16905402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cabbagespoon/pseuds/cabbagespoon
Summary: A collection of whump drabbles focused on Victor and Yuuri. Features nsfw.





	1. Chapter 1

We’re lying on the couch, tangled up with each other and the blankets. It’s sort of become home-base over the last forty-eight hours.

Some show I’ve never heard of is playing in English but I’m not really paying attention. A disgruntled, middle-aged father, his spacey wife, and a couple of rugrats. It’s just background noise, a bit of distraction.

Viktor’s head is resting in my lap and he’s got one arm tucked around my leg. It’s warm and comfortable and wouldn’t be unusual except for the fact that Viktor is running a fever and it’s kicking his ass. He’s been nauseous and achy and miserable for almost two days, now.

I’m beginning to feel the strain. We were up most of last night, camped out on the bathroom floor; Viktor hugging the toilet and me hugging Viktor while he tried his hardest to puke up his stomach lining. He hardly ever gets sick, so when he does everything hits him all at once, like a goddamn freight-train barreling down the tracks at full speed and smashing headlong into a stalled car.

Around seven this morning, Viktor fell asleep against the toilet seat and I decided it was safe to relocate; somewhere a little more - _erm_ \- sanitary, and comfortable - my ass was killing me.

I forced him to drink a little water but I let him pick the movie. Or tried to. He switched absently between channels for a while before complaining about his eyes hurting and, “Yuuri, can you do it, please?”

I was hoping he’d fallen asleep, but he’s started squirming again and from the desperate, spasmodic grip on my thigh and the strained, breathy moans, I know it won’t be long before he needs the bucket. I’ve given up trying to haul him into the bathroom. Ease and efficiency have become my priorities during this sleep-deprived stretch.

I huff out a sympathetic sigh and pet his hair, trying to calm him down. He nuzzles his face into my leg, panting through his nose and swallowing thickly with each exhale.

“ _Shh_ , you’re all right,” I soothe once the keening starts up again. Viktor stays very still, just breathing those wet, shallow breaths; throat humming with those pitiful, desperate noises, eyes clenched shut and every muscle coiled tight in defense.

“Can you sit up?” I ask him. He gives a tiny shake of his head and swallows down a gurgle that turns into a burp. “Viktor?”

He hiccups; deep and wet and bringing with it a mouthful of whatever’s left in his stomach. He lets go of my leg, finally pushes up on his elbows and gestures frantically for the bucket. I position the container beneath his chin and begin rubbing circles against his back. I’ve done this so many times it’s become routine.

Viktor groans and burps; out loud this time as his shoulders roll forward with a deep gag. I watch as he fights the urge for a moment; he always does. And then a choked noise rumbles in his throat. His cheeks inflate with another belch and a breathless gasp, “Yuuri…”

“I’ve got you,” I reassure. I don’t sound very steady. “I’m here.”

Viktor shudders violently, his upper body rocking forward as he begins to retch. I hear something splash into the bottom of the bucket and close my eyes. He trembles beneath my hands, emptying out his stomach. I feel my chest constrict and my breath hitches in my throat, just like it has every time Viktor’s thrown up. Don’t panic, I remind myself. _This will pass. Do not panic. He needs you. Don’t…_

And I don’t. I breathe in, breathe out, massage slow circles against his back and wait for the episode to subside. Eventually, Viktor coughs, panting as his limbs quiver, trying to recover from the exertion. He swears under his breath and falls limp against the cushions. I reach for a tissue to wipe his mouth. He’s sweating; damp hair plastered to his forehead and moisture beading over every inch of skin.

His hands travel down to his sweats, tugging clumsily at the loose fabric. With a frustrated moan, he manages to pull them down around his thighs before I can stop him.

“What are you doing?” I ask, trying to ease the pants back up over his bare hips. He lets out a soft moan when my hand brushes over the dip curving just below his abdomen.

“ _Mm_ …s'hot,” he slurs, licking the sweat from his upper lip and clicking his tongue. “Need ‘em off. ’S too hot.”

I abandon the pants and immediately reach up to feel his forehead; he’s burning, worse than before.

“Viktor, you really should try some more medicine. Your fever’s up.”

I can feel a fresh surge of panic threatening to choke me, making it difficult to draw a breath. He’s just so sick and I don’t know what the hell I’m doing…I don’t think I’m helping at all.

“ _Mmmnn_ ,” Viktor groans, tugging at his t-shirt. “Yuuri, help me,” his voice wobbles, sounding very young. “I can’t g-get it off. I can’t…can’t breathe.”

I give up and help him pull his arms out of the damp shirt. He kicks off the sweatpants and now I have a very feverish, very naked boyfriend clinging to me like the last life-vest aboard the sinking Titanic.

I gulp and place a hand against the small of his back while Viktor buries his face in my lap. His skin is warm and slick with sweat, legs intertwining with mine, trapping me against him.

“You’re so good to me, moya lyubov,” he murmurs, nuzzling his nose between my thighs. A buzzy warmth pools in the pit of my stomach and I can’t help it when my fingers stray a little further down, stroking lazily over the smooth arc of his ass. He purrs in appreciation and giggles drunkenly into my shirt. But the moment is obliterated when he starts coughing; thick and congested and painful, bringing up mouthfuls of phlegm that make him gag until he leans over to spit into the bucket.

“Yuuri,” he whimpers, fingers clenching in the fabric of my shirt. “I don’ feel good. ‘M tired of…being like this -” and breaks off into another fit of coughing.

I run my fingers gently through his hair, brushing back the damp bangs and placing a kiss on the top of his head.

“I know you are, love. I’m so sorry.”

I watch his throat bob up and down a few times and prepare to reach for the bucket. He releases a shaky, exhausted sigh and shivers - the involuntary action travels down from his shoulders to the rest of his body like an electric current.

“Viktor?” I keep running my hand through his hair and peer down, trying to catch his eyes. He blinks up at me, tearful and dazed beneath wet lashes. Another shiver crawls down the length of his spine. “Do you want to get back under the covers?”

He sniffs, nods, and snuggles closer as I pull the blankets over the both of us. He wraps his arms around my waist and rests his head just below my chest. I feel my heartbeat accelerate in spite of myself and wonder if he’s listening. He shivers some more and burrows impossibly close.

“I never thought I’d be saying this,” I whisper into his hair. He mumbles a sleepy, “ _Hmm_?” and I feel a smile tugging at my lips.

“You should’ve left your clothes on, Vitya.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri has a panic attack.

Yuuri could hear his heartbeat thudding violently in his ears. Blood rushing like a surging river throughout his veins.

Here he was, finally on the verge of a breakthrough…and he couldn’t do it.

He couldn’t go out there and make a fool of himself. He couldn’t go out on the ice and disappoint the only person who had ever believed in his ability to achieve something other than obscure mediocrity.

Already, his limbs had started to go numb, rendering them utterly useless.

He could hear the pulsating thrum of whoops and chants and cheers from the stadium outside, all of them eager to watch him struggle and ultimately fail.

Viktor’s hand rested lightly against the small of his back, fingers occasionally rubbing circles over his warm-up jacket as he stared at the screen. The gesture was involuntary, Yuuri knew, but it didn’t help. If anything, the contact encouraged his anxiety, propelled his misgivings into a whirlwind of panic. He wasn’t ready. He needed more practice. He would never be ready…

A wave of lightheadedness abruptly caught him off guard, causing Yuuri to sway back into Viktor’s steadying hand. He hadn’t realized how hard it had become to draw a breath. He felt his stomach constrict and his frantic heart rate flutter. Chilly sweat broke out over his forehead and upper lip - he licked apprehensively, swallowing against a surge of nausea.

“I can’t do it,” he muttered, chin lolling against his chest. He felt dangerously close to passing out. “I can’t…”

“What is this?”

Viktor’s soft accent sounded incredibly distant, floating over the horizon of unattainable dreams.

“Yuuri, you’re trembling,” he noted, tucking Yuuri’s jacket more securely around his shoulders. “Focus on your breathing exercises.”

At the moment, Viktor’s coaching wasn’t especially helpful, considering Yuuri was only capable of shallow, hitching little swallows of air.

“Viktor, I can’t do this,” Yuuri repeated, voice barely more than a whisper. He felt Viktor’s hand stiffen against his back.

“Of course you can!” Viktor reassured with a firm pat. Yuuri’s nervousness wasn’t something he was accustomed to dealing with in such a concentrated form.

A bubble of air careened up Yuuri’s throat, bringing with it a splash of his breakfast. Yuuri lurched over his lap, gulping thickly as he struggled to swallow down the warm sludge.

“Yuuri?”

“I, uh…” Yuuri gagged in his mouth, feeling all of the nervous energy that had been building up over the past four hours swirling like a maelstrom in his stomach with no place to go.

“Yuuri, what is it? What’s wrong?”

Yuuri tried to breathe, tried to quiet his mind and calm down. But as he watched his competitor land his final set and the crowd went apeshit, Yuuri felt his heart drop into his toes and his meager stomach contents crawl up into his throat.

He clamped a hand over his mouth, releasing a sharp belch as his eyes widened with panic.

Viktor’s hand had vacated his back as his coach knelt in front of him, concerned eyes searching his face as his hands gripped Yuuri’s thighs.

“I think…I’m gonna be sick,” Yuuri gulped, suppressing an aborted gag.

“Okay,” Viktor’s eyes narrowed with worry, darting around in an uncharacteristically desperate search for help. “Can you make it to the bathroom?”

Yuuri’s response was cut off by a particularly violent retch and all he managed was a minute shake of his head. Dizziness overwhelmed him and he began sinking off the bench towards the floor, both hands pressed firmly over his mouth.

Viktor caught him under his arms, easing him down as the younger boy whimpered into his palm.

“Hold on,” Viktor begged as he stood up and tore across the room.

A moment later, Yuuri felt something being positioned in his lap and Viktor’s hand bracing his shoulder.

Yuuri released his mouth in favor of gripping the small trashcan, burping wetly as strings of saliva dripped into the container.

“You’re all right,” Viktor soothed, sounding incredibly uncomfortable, as if he’d rather have been anywhere else. Even his slow arcs down Yuuri’s back seemed hesitantly uncertain.

Yuuri’s ears buzzed as he attempted to swallow, trying his best to delay the inevitable even as his stomach gave a warning lurch.

The humiliation was unbearable.

Yuuri belched again, trapped air rolling out in a long, gurgling heave. He felt his abdominal muscles contract, forcing a projectile flood of hot liquid up his throat.

He picked up the trashcan and buried his head in the plastic bag as a wave of curdled sick poured out of him, splattering the inside with a hollow thunk.

“Shit,” he heard Viktor murmur. His coach’s hand moved up to cup the back of his neck, holding him steady as he convulsed.

Yuuri didn’t have a chance to inhale before another choking surge of vomit erupted from his mouth, splashing violently into the mess he’d already made.

Viktor’s hands never abandoned him throughout the bout of sickness, slowly easing him through the lingering spasms as the attack gradually tapered off, leaving Yuuri a panting, sniveling wreck.

“I’m sorry,” Yuuri gasped, eyes clenching shut as tears began flowing unchecked down his flushed cheeks. “I’m sorry you picked me.”

Viktor was silent for a moment, his hand having stilled against the small of Yuuri’s back, thumb rubbing absently as he watched the younger boy struggle through his overwhelming emotions.

“Stop saying that,” Viktor ordered, fingers reaching to tilt Yuri’s chin up. They were so close Viktor’s nose nearly brushed Yuuri’s forehead.

“I have never been sorry I picked you.”

Yuri hiccuped, wet eyes blinking up at his coach in disbelief.

“Not once,” Viktor continued with a gentle smile. “You are amazing, Yuuri. I want you to know and accept that.”

Yuuri sniffled, allowing himself to wallow a second longer in his moment of weakness as he dropped his forehead against Viktor’s shoulder.

“There are very few who can do what you do. And even fewer who could do it so beautifully.”

“But -“

“Be proud of that,” Viktor said, aggressively gripping Yuuri’s face with both hands.

Yuuri heard the announcer rambling through his introduction and felt his next breath catch in his throat as his eyes strayed towards the screen.

“ _Shh_ , no,” Viktor jerked Yuuri’s head back, his gaze frightfully intense. “Don’t worry about them. I am proud of you. I know you can do this.”

Yuuri inhaled a deep breath, exhaled slowly through his nose and focused on Viktor’s unwavering eyes.

His heartbeat continued to falter, his stomach continued to churn, he still felt weak, overwhelmed with the childish urge to run away…

But he no longer felt hopeless.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor has a rough night.

Yuuri is exhausted.

Practice had been unusually grueling and on top of everything, Viktor had been uncharacteristically grouchy. He’d seemed distracted, snapping at Yuuri when he screwed up his step-sequence, (which he apologized profusely for after Yuuri nearly succumbed to a meltdown on the ice). When Yuuri finally asked if something was the matter, Viktor waved him off, quickly changing the subject, instructing him to pay more attention to his footwork.

Yuuri’s suspicion is confirmed on the cab ride back to their apartment. Viktor promptly falls asleep as soon as they’re settled; wet, congested breaths puffing softly against Yuuri’s neck and an overly warm forehead pressed against his shoulder.

After paying the driver, Yuuri gently kisses his boyfriend awake, frowning when Viktor moans, asking where they are.

“Viktor, you should have said something. You’re really sick.”

“Didn’t want to worry you,” Viktor mumbles, slumping heavily against Yuuri’s chest as he bundles Viktor out of the cab.

“Right. Good job, there,” Yuuri rolls his eyes, supporting most of Viktor’s weight as he steers him towards the elevator.

He’d expected Viktor to be clingy, but he hadn’t expected him to be so… _quiet_. Viktor’s vocabulary has been reduced to a few breathless grunts. It’s unsettling and more than a little pitiful.

Viktor sits down on the edge of the bed, struggling uselessly with his shirt.

“What’re you doing?” Yuuri asks, placing a steadying hand on Viktor’s shoulder.

“’S too hot,” Viktor slurs in frustration, blinking up at Yuuri with wet eyes.

Yuuri feels his heart clench, carefully easing Viktor’s shirt back down over his torso. “Leave it on, Viktor. You’re going to get cold.”

Viktor shakes his head, struggling with the shirt once more. Yuuri sits down beside him, sighing in resignation as Viktor finally peels off the offending article of clothing and tosses it onto the floor. He collapses back against the mattress, throwing an arm over his face with a muffled groan.

“You should drink something. Maybe try to take some medicine for that fever,” Yuuri reasons, hoping Viktor listens to logic for once.

“I don’t…don’t want anything,” Viktor rasps, curling into a fetal position as a bout of coughing wracks his upper body.

“I’m going to make you some tea,” Yuuri announces as though Viktor hadn’t said anything at all.

He rises to his feet and is surprised when Viktor’s hand catches his wrist, squeezing desperately.

“Don’t leave,” Viktor begs, dazed, fever-bright eyes blown wide with panic.

“Hey,” Yuuri soothes, gathering his boyfriend to his chest, hugging him close and stroking his damp hair. “I’m just going to the kitchen. I’ll be right back.”

Viktor sniffles against his chest but nods, finally releasing him.

“Lie down,” Yuuri urges, easing Viktor back against the pillows. “I’ll only be a few minutes.”

When Yuuri returns, two steaming mugs clutched in either hand, Viktor is already asleep. Apparently, he’d decided to strip off his pants as well. His breaths rattle through parted lips and his brows are creased with discomfort. Yuuri sighs, deciding the tea can wait.

He can’t help smiling fondly at his boyfriend’s disheveled appearance. The sweaty hair tousled over his face, the boxers sliding a little too far down his hips, revealing the smooth curve of his ass, and a spot of drool already forming on the pillow beneath his head. Even unconscious, burning with fever, Viktor is still just so _fucking attractive_.

Yuuri’s cheeks flare with a rush of heat. He doesn’t say, let alone think things like that very often. Viktor’s chest hitches with a soft moan. He rolls over and blinks away the dizziness.

“ _Mmm_ …Yuuri,” he slurs, rubbing at his eyes. “Come lay down with me?”

“Can you try to drink something, first?”

“Later,” Viktor assures. “Just…please? I don’t feel good.”

“Oh, _now_ you’ll admit it,” Yuuri huffs out a laugh as he slides in behind his boyfriend and wraps an arm around Viktor’s waist. Viktor sighs, sounding content as his breaths gradually even out.

Yuuri doesn’t even realize he’s fallen asleep until he startles awake. The room is dark and the bed is empty.

“Viktor?” Yuuri blinks in confusion, scrambling to switch on the bedside lamp. He hears a choked gasp from the bathroom and stumbles out of bed.

“Oh,” Yuuri finds Viktor on the floor, curled over the toilet. He’s sweating and panting and looks about two seconds away from losing it. “ _Oh_ , no. Oh, Viktor.”

“Yuuri,” Viktor gasps, moaning softly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t,” Yuuri assures, wincing as a shudder ripples down his boyfriend’s back and his muscles seize up. “Viktor, how long have you been in here?”

“I’m -“ Viktor pauses to swallow down a burp. “I’m not sure.”

Yuuri glances inside the bowl. The water’s clear. If Viktor hasn’t thrown up yet he couldn’t have been in here for too long.

“Go back to bed, Yuuri,” Viktor whispers, fingers trembling as he clutches at the rim.

“Don’t be stupid,” Yuuri blurts out, immediately squatting down behind his boyfriend. “I’m not going to leave you in here. You should have woken me.”

Viktor can’t respond. His shoulders hitch up to his ears as a rumbling gurgle vibrates in the back of his throat. He buries his head in the bowl, saliva dripping freely from his lips as his body tenses in anticipation. A soft belch is the only warning before Viktor’s lurching forward and a watery flood of liquid spews out of him.

“ _Oh_ , Vitya,” Yuuri cups his hand over Viktor’s forehead, the other strokes soothingly down his back. His skin is on fire. “I’m so sorry.”

Viktor’s quiet. He doesn’t make much noise. The only sounds are the wet, echoing splashes as more sick spills past his lips into the water and labored panting as he struggles for a breath.

“You’re doing good,” Yuuri encourages; no clue if he’s really being helpful. “I’ve got you.”

Viktor groans, interrupted by another sick sounding burp as he slumps against the toilet. Tears trickle down his flushed face as he struggles to get his body under control.

“Viktor,” Yuuri pauses the back rub, trying to catch a glimpse of his boyfriend’s face. “Are you all right?” He pulls out a tissue and carefully wipes Viktor’s cheeks, then dabs at the moisture clinging to his lips.

Viktor swallows, “‘M…dizzy. Sorry.”

“Okay,” Yuuri says. “That’s okay. Do you think you’re finished?”

Viktor hesitates a moment, then nods, but he makes no move to push away from the safety of the bowl. He shivers, chills racing down his spine as his teeth begin chattering. That’s no surprise.

“I told you,” Yuuri shakes his head, propping Viktor against his shoulder. “Come on. Let’s go back to bed. Get you warmed up.”

“Y-Yuuri,” Viktor slurs, wrapping his arms around Yuuri’s neck and burying his face against his shoulder.

“What is it?” Yuuri asks softly. Viktor nuzzles his nose in the crook of Yuuri’s neck. His shoulders jolt with little hiccups. He sounds like he might be crying. Yuuri rubs a few more circles against the small of his back, easing them both up, away from the chilly floor.

Viktor whines at the movement, audibly swallowing down a splash of something.

“Yuuri,” Viktor repeats, releasing a breathy burp into Yuuri’s shirt.

“Viktor,” Yuuri intones, teasing as he settles his boyfriend back into bed and tucks the covers securely around his shivering body. He brushes a damp strand of silver hair out of Viktor’s face, pausing to cup his hot cheek.

“Love you,” Viktor whispers, eyelids sagging.

Yuuri smiles, leaning down to press a warm kiss against Viktor’s forehead.

“Me too,” and Viktor hums appreciatively, curling up in Yuuri’s lap like an overgrown cat.

“But you’re still going to drink something, Vitya.”

Viktor adamantly shakes his head and gags into Yuuri’s sweatpants - just to prove a point. Yuuri sighs and pets Viktor’s hair.

It’s going to be a difficult night.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri has the flu. Victor panics.

He’s fine. He’s got this. He is absolutely _not_ letting anyone down.

It’s a mantra Yuri repeats in his head like a prayer until he’s dizzy. He’s not about to let a stupid stomachache, (or the fact that his head is on the verge of implosion), deter him from practice. It may be the most important practice week of his brief, troubled career. The Grand Prix Finals are less than a week away. He has everything to prove. More than that, he has everything to lose.

_No pressure, Katsuki…_

He doesn’t have time for his immune system to play hooky. He doesn’t have time to be sick.

He’s fallen more than once trying to land the final triple axle in his routine. He hasn’t fallen in weeks. No matter that the lights are too bright and the rink feels like a fucking igloo, turning his bones to ice and numbing his rubbery limbs. No matter that the music arrangement blares and taunts rather than encourages his performance; daring him to fail, throbbing inside his skull as the pain reaches a crescendo.

_No excuses._

When Yuri’s right foot lands awkwardly, fucking up the last rotation, yet again, he glances at Viktor across the rink. He can tell his coach is reaching the end of his patience. His lips are pursed in a concentrated frown and his blue eyes are narrowed, either in annoyance or confusion…or both; Yuri could almost trick himself into thinking it’s concern creasing the corners of Viktor’s delicate mouth. But he knows better.

He drops into a spin and his stomach swirls up into his throat. For a moment, he vaguely wonders if he’s going to be sick right there on the ice. But the nausea ebbs and he swallows hard and forces everything back down to deal with later.

“That’s enough,” Viktor calls, uncrossing his arms and waving him over. “Yuri, come here.”

Yuri skates over to the edge of the rink and it’s a relief to have something to hold onto. He desperately wishes he’d decided to skip breakfast this morning. Everything’s sloshing around in his stomach, threatening to surge the moment he lets his guard down.

“What’s going on with you today?” Viktor asks. He places both hands on Yuri’s shoulders, holding him steady while he searches his eyes. Yuri instinctively ducks his head, avoiding his coach’s piercing gaze. “You are not yourself.”

Viktor’s voice is gentle, somber. He smiles encouragingly when Yuri finally glances up at him. Yuri supposes he ought to feel relieved; he doesn’t think he could handle Viktor yelling at him right now. But the realization only disgusts him. His weakness disgusts him.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t sleep very well last night. My head’s all over the place,” Yuri shrugs apologetically, then looks back at Viktor with renewed determination. “I’ll get it together. I promise.”

“I think that’s enough for today,” Viktor counters, rubbing his hands lightly over Yuri’s arms as if he’s trying to warm him up. “You need rest. You’re wearing yourself out.”

“No, Viktor - I’m still -“

“This is not a democracy, Katsuki,” Viktor interrupts, but his tone is teasing. He leans down to press a quick kiss against the center of Yuri’s forehead. When he pulls away, he’s frowning. “You feel warm.”

“Of-of course I am. I’ve been practicing for three hours,” Yuri backpedals, wrenching out of Viktor’s grasp and kneeling down on pretense of gathering up his warm-up gear. Really, he just wants Viktor to stop looking at him like that. “I could still go for a while longer. I’ve almost perfected the rotation.”

Viktor kneels down beside him, hands Yuri his jacket and gives a little shake of his head, “Perhaps a break will do you some good. Clear your head, yeah?”

Suddenly, the dizziness returns with a vengeance and Yuri nearly tips over, narrowly avoiding an embarrassing face-plant. Viktor reaches out to steady him. Yuri chokes on a timorous laugh and forces himself to inhale a few deep breaths. “Sorry.”

“You’re very pale, _lapochka_ ,” Viktor cups Yuri’s cheek, tenderly circling his thumb a few times across the over-heated skin before Yuri pulls away, face flushing even brighter.

“We have an interview in half an hour,” Yuri mumbles, quickly stuffing the rest of his gear into his bag. He ignores the slight tremor of his hands, the pathetic wobble in his voice. Hopefully Viktor will chalk it up to nerves. “I’m gonna shower.”

Viktor sighs as he rises from his own crouch, one hand hovering over Yuri’s back - just in case.

“I’ll meet you outside in twenty minutes,” Viktor says. He still looks worried. Yuri musters up a bright smile and nods, hurrying off to the locker room before Viktor has a chance to make another remark about his damn complexion.

And when he throws up in the shower he adamantly blames the grueling workout and lack of sleep. _It’s fine. It’s nothing._ Viktor doesn’t need to be bothered with something so trivial.

—

Viktor rolls over, humming wantonly as he stretches out to feel for Yuri. They’ve only been sleeping together for a handful of weeks but it’s amazing how quickly Viktor’s grown accustomed to sharing a bed with someone; how acutely he craves the comforting presence of Yuri’s body pressed up against his. But Yuri’s side of the bed is cold and bare. Viktor pushes up on his elbows, frowning through the warm haze of sleep.

“Yuri?”

Viktor groans into his pillow, not particularly relishing the idea of hauling himself out of bed but his bladder is aching and refuses to be ignored. He pulls a blanket around his shoulders and shuffles into the bathroom to relieve himself before checking the living room.

Sure enough, Yuri’s pale face is illuminated by the light emanating from his laptop. He’s huddled on the floor against the couch, knees pressed up against his bare chest and staring intently at the screen balanced on the coffee table. His shoulders quiver with tremors but he doesn’t seem to care.

“ _Moya lyubov_ , what are you doing up? It’s so late.” Viktor slumps down beside Yuri, wrapping his blanket around the both of them and yawning loudly before resting his head against the younger man’s shoulder.

“Yuri?” Viktor frowns, reaching up to brush back the boy’s damp bangs. “ _Derr’mo_ ,” he curses, allowing his fingers to linger. “You’re burning up! Why didn’t you wake me?”

Yuri doesn’t bother pushing Viktor’s hand away. In fact, he barely acknowledges the other man’s proximity.

“There’s something missing,” Yuri murmurs to no one in particular, half-lidded eyes flickering with an unsettling intensity. He reaches out with a trembling hand, tapping to rewind the video. “It’s s-still not right. It’s…it’s not right.”

Viktor finally takes a look at the screen. It’s Yuri’s recording from his practice session this afternoon. His fingers hover over the keys, replaying the triple axle over and over, always pausing to rewind. His eye twitches every time he watches himself collapse on the ice, failing to land the jump.

“Yuri,” Viktor’s frown deepens. He winces when Yuri crashes again and pulls his eyes away from the screen. “How long have you been out here? How long have you been watching this?”

“I don’t know what’s wrong,” Yuri whispers into his knees; he’s rocking nervously, back and forth, red-rimmed eyes beginning to well up. “I d-don’t know what’s missing.”

“Okay,” Viktor tries to maintain a soothing tone even as anxiety prickles along the back of his neck. He reaches out to close the laptop. “Let’s go back to bed, huh? Leave this for another time.”

“No!” Yuri’s eyes widen, pooling with panic when Viktor tries to click off the video. “I’m almost there. It’s so close. It’s - it’s right there. Right in front of me. I just - j-just have to -”

“ _Shh_ , hey, _hey_ , all right,” Viktor shushes, cupping Yuri’s too-warm face and easing his gaze towards him. “Don’t worry about that right now. Try to take a breath.”

Yuri’s eyes brim with frustrated tears and Viktor feels his heart breaking a little when the boy asks, “Wha’ - what’s wrong with me?”

And Viktor’s chest aches because he knows Yuri isn’t talking about his current physical condition. He blatantly ignores the implication, offering Yuri a sympathetic smile.

“You’re just sick, _kotenok_ ,” Viktor breathes, using his thumb to rub gentle circles along Yuri’s nape. “You should’ve told me this morning. Come on, let’s go back to bed.”

“But - but I can’t,” and Yuri looks absolutely devastated. “I’m so close…”

“Yuri, please, come here. It’s all right, love.”

A bit of coaxing and the absence of the warm blanket eventually urge Yuri to his feet. He sways, gulping frantically as he waits for the scenery to settle back into place. When he begins to slump, Viktor wraps a strong arm around his waist, leading him back towards the bedroom.

Halfway there, Yuri abruptly tenses, whining softly in the back of his throat. Viktor’s forced to pause when Yuri suddenly blanches, cupping a hand over his mouth just in time for a burp to roll into his palm. The noise gurgles up from deep in his chest, morphing into a wet sounding gag.

He already knows the answer, but Viktor asks anyway, “Yuri? Are you going to be sick?”

Yuri shakes his head, but his fingers stay pressed against his lips. Another sharp belch rumbles in his throat, noisy even though he doesn’t open his mouth to let it up. That’s all the prompting Viktor needs to change direction and steer them into the bathroom.

Yuri doesn’t even make it to the toilet. He lunges for the sink, barely managing to pull his hand away before a flood of watery fluid is gushing into the basin. Yuri whimpers, erupts with another belching gag that ushers up a much thicker stream. The rancid contents spill out of him at an alarming rate, barely granting him a breath between the bouts of retching.

“God,” Yuri gasps, voice a breathless croak. “My head…”

“ _B’lyad’_ , baby,” Viktor curses softly, pulling off his boyfriend’s glasses and setting them aside. He holds back Yuri’s bangs and strokes encouragingly over the arc of his back. “I’m sorry, _lyubov_. It’ll be over in a moment.”

Yuri coughs, panting raggedly as his legs start wobbling and he stumbles gracelessly, collapsing against Viktor’s chest.

“Okay,” Viktor croons. “Deep breaths. I’ve got you.”

“Vik-Viktor?” Yuri swallows convulsively, blinking up at the older man with cloudy, dazed eyes. It’s unnerving, how very young he looks in Viktor’s arms. Then Yuri shudders and his eyes roll back in their sockets as he slumps bonelessly to the floor, dragging Viktor down with him.

“Yuri? Yuri! Yuri…”

He’s out cold and Viktor’s simmering panic bubbles to the surface and explodes, obliterating every rational thought in his head except for a frantic litany, Yuri _Yuripleasenonono_ ….

Viktor does the first thing his short-circuiting brain conjures; he calls an ambulance. It takes a good five minutes for Viktor to calm down long enough to provide the dispatcher with a location and the information she needs. He spent the first four practically sobbing to her in broken Russian.

“Yuri,” Viktor whispers after hanging up. He cradles the smaller boy to his chest, cleans his face with a cool cloth and makes sure his airway is clear. “Hold on for me.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NSFW - Victor and Yuuri celebrate with (lots of) champagne and a little frisky business.

Yuuri wasn’t quite sure how they managed to stumble back to their hotel room.

Both boys were an intoxicated tangle of groping limbs, sloppy kisses, and, “ _Shh_ , we’re being too loud,” although both were guilty of giggling like school girls.

Victor’s arms were currently draped around Yuuri’s neck, and twice already he’d had to deter Victor’s hands from preemptively sliding down the front of his pants.

“Victor, honestly…” Yuuri twined their fingers, slurring slightly through the smile twitching at the corners of his lips, in spite of himself.

“But you smell so good,” Victor hummed against the back of Yuuri’s neck, lips sucking greedily at his throat; he could already feel the bruises blossoming. “ _Mmm_ , I want — want to eat you up, _kotyonok_.”

Yuuri felt the vibration of a hiccup against his skin and couldn’t help snorting as Victor went back to suckling like a kitten lapping up cream. “Babe, you are _so_ drunk.”

Yuuri couldn’t remember how many flutes of champagne he’d downed, but it was hardly a comparison to what Victor had consumed. He was frankly surprised the Russian was still coherent, let alone upright.

“Where did I put the damn keycard?” Yuuri mumbled in frustration as he searched his jacket pockets. Victor blew a raspberry, clinging to Yuuri’s shoulders like an overgrown chimpanzee and didn’t seem concerned in the slightest about the potential of being locked out. “I know it’s here some—Vic!“

“Stop talking and kiss me,” Victor growled suddenly as he spun the other man towards him with surprising fluidity and pinned Yuuri against their door.

He captured Yuuri’s lips and for a few seconds both were lost in a white haze, not bothering to come up for air. Yuuri wrapped his arms securely around the taller man’s waist, instinctively pulling him closer as his hands traveled down the elegant curve of Victor’s ass.

Victor’s mouth was warm and wet and Yuuri could still taste the Veuve on his tongue; an expensive kiss, he thought absently. He couldn’t help rolling his hips in anticipation, his body hardening despite the alcohol. He felt Victor’s erection brushing along the inside of his thigh and moaned into the kiss.

“Want you inside me, Yuuri,” Victor panted, breathless and dizzy when he finally pulled away. A distinctly Cheshire smile tugged at his lips as he reached around and pulled the keycard out of Yuuri’s back pocket. He unlocked the door and they tumbled inside the room, clumsy fingers struggling to undress the other as quickly as possible. Victor nearly tripped over his own feet trying to yank off his pants before Yuuri caught him around the waist.

“So we’re taking it slow, then?” Yuuri teased, laughing as he steadied his boyfriend.

“You wouldn’t dare,” Victor breathed, voice shaky with need.

And then it was Yuuri’s turn to slam Victor against the wall, his turn to bury his face against Victor’s neck and leave his mark. The Russian grunted at the rough impact, wrapping both legs around Yuuri’s waist as the younger man hoisted him with ease, fingers digging into the meat of Victor’s ass.

Yuuri felt his fingers slipping and quickly readjusted his grip. “Victor, you’re so wet already,” he groaned, the words a low rumble in the back of his throat. “So eager for me —“ He brushed teasingly against Victor’s slick entrance and Yuuri smiled when he felt the other man clenching expectantly.

Victor slurred something in Russian. His cock throbbed insistently against Yuuri’s stomach and he whined at the friction as Yuuri positioned him. He let Victor hover in place for a moment, lips popping off the nipple he’d been sucking in order to catch the other man’s eyes.

Victor’s parted mouth glistened, nearly slack as his breath came in ragged pants; cheeks flushed and eyes bright while his fingers spasmed in Yuuri’s hair.

Yuuri swallowed thickly, relishing the gorgeous, undone spectacle of Victor Nikiforov.

“ _Mmnn_ …please, Yuuri,” Victor moaned, hips bucking in Yuuri’s grip as he sought more friction. “N-need you to fuck me…”

And he obliged, lowering Victor down onto his cock, bare skin slapping audibly as Yuuri’s thighs strained against the impact. Victor cried out, shuddering with pleasure as Yuuri filled him up and lingered for a moment, waiting for Victor’s body to finish accommodating him before he began thrusting.

“God, you feel so good,” Yuuri panted, groaning as Victor involuntarily clenched around him. He couldn’t wait any longer. He pulled out just enough to get a little leverage before enthusiastically slamming their bodies back together.

Victor gasped, eyes rolling into the back of his head. He collapsed over Yuuri’s shoulder, muscles trembling as he bottomed out. “Yuuri…” he whimpered, voice muffled against Yuuri’s neck. “-‘m gonna—”

Encouraged, and already close, Yuuri rolled upwards with a series of deep thrusts.

Victor groaned, face still buried against Yuuri’s shoulder and body nearly limp. But something was off; he didn’t sound right. Yuuri forced himself to pause, reaching up with one hand to cup the back of the other boy’s head.

“Vitya?” He brushed aside the sweaty bangs curtaining Victor’s face. “You all right?”

His boyfriend tensed in his arms, and Yuuri felt a hot puff of air as Victor suddenly belched against his neck. Yuuri froze as a wet wave of warmth abruptly slid down his back. He heard Victor coughing over his shoulder.

“Um, Victor,” Yuuri whispered, voice quivering with panic. “Did you just throw up?” He already knew the question was irrelevant but shock and disbelief prompted him to ask anyway.

Victor was struggling to push away, whining in the back of his throat as he clamped a hand over his mouth in desperation.

Yuuri ignored the revolting sensation of Victor’s stomach contents dripping over his skin as he carefully pulled out and lowered the other man to the floor. Victor swayed precariously in Yuuri’s grasp, tears trickling down his cheeks as he promptly retched into his hand.

“Okay, come here,” Yuuri urged gently, securing his arm around Victor’s waist and practically carrying him into the bathroom. “Just hold on a second.”

They didn’t quite make it. Yuuri was attempting to guide him over the toilet when Victor burped again and lost control, trembling violently as sick spilled between his fingers and dripped down the side of the bowl.

Yuuri winced at the additional mess but didn’t comment. He simply knelt down behind his boyfriend and tugged Victor’s hand away from his mouth. “Let go, love,” he encouraged. “It’s all right.”

Victor immediately sagged into the bowl and Yuuri hurried to rescue his forehead from bumping against the rim. Another guttural belch echoed inside the confines of the porcelain and Victor’s spine arched dramatically as a massive surge of mostly alcohol poured from his mouth.

“There you go,” Yuuri soothed, rubbing circles against Victor’s convulsing back with his free hand. “Get it up. I’ve got you.”

Victor whimpered, taut muscles coiling with another painful heave. The contraction ushered up two lengthy waves of his overindulgence before allowing his body to recover. When he finally raised his head, his eyes were dazed, strands of hair were plastered untidily to his face and strings of drool clung stubbornly to his chin.

“You’re a mess,” Yuuri smiled sympathetically, ripping off a few squares of paper to wipe Victor’s nose and mouth. “Maybe we overdid it a little, tonight, huh?”

Victor’s face crumpled, fresh tears squeezing out as he coughed into the rumpled paper Yuuri held to his lips. “I’m so sorry,” he slurred, voice hoarse from exertion. “I don’ know wha’—“

“Vitya, hey,” Yuuri cooed, tucking Victor’s damp hair behind his ears. “It’s all right. You couldn’t help it. I — I’m sorry I didn’t stop for you earlier.”

“No, don’ - don’t be,” Victor jolted with a wet hiccup. “Felt good...jus'-" Victor sagged back over the toilet to belch up another mouthful of sour champagne. 

“Probably because you drank your weight in champagne,” Yuuri laughed softly, stroking his fingers down Victor’s back. “Why don’t you shower and I’ll clean up here.”

Victor’s head flopped back onto Yuuri’s shoulder, hand trailing between Yuuri’s thighs resting on either side of his. “You’re still so hard,” he observed, a hint of amusement flickering in his voice as his fingers stroked enticingly down Yuuri’s uncomfortably sore length.

Yuuri glanced down, embarrassed to discover that he’d been leaking all over Victor’s backside while they’d been pressed up against each other. He reached up to tear off another few squares of paper but Victor stopped him.

“Come shower with me?” he asked, voice transforming into a seductive lilt, though noticeably huskier than before.

“Victor, you just got sick. I don’t think we should —“

“Please?” Victor interrupted, lips turning down into an attractive pout before pursing against another hiccup. “I wan’ - want to help you finish.”

Yuuri bit his bottom lip, resting his forehead against Victor’s shoulder blade as the other man rubbed slowly against him.

“And I’m so sleepy,” Victor drawled in that same hypnotizing purr, “—help me stay awake, _lyubov moya_ …”

“Well, um,” Yuuri nearly choked as Victor arched back into him. He cleared his throat and resisted the urge to rut his hips. “I definitely can’t have you falling asleep in the shower.”

“ _Spasibo_ , darling,” Victor whispered drowsily.

Yuuri sighed before pressing his lips against Victor’s overheated skin. He had never been very good at saying no.


End file.
